


Sangria

by GE Buchanan (GracieForeth)



Series: BlackFalcon [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieForeth/pseuds/GE%20Buchanan
Summary: Sam and Natasha are on a mission in Puerto Vallarta to apprehend their mark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: needles, non-consensual touching
> 
> A/N: Cyril Zografos is my character. Anything resembling an actual person is pure coincidence.

For the fourth time that night, Natasha caught Sam looking at her across the outdoor bar. They were on a mission to take down some lowlife drug lord in Mexico; Natasha was supposed to lure him and subdue him and Sam was backup.

"Wilson, you're supposed to be back up," Natasha teased into the com, "not watching me." She took a sip of the sangria she's been nursing for the last hour. Their intel told then that their mark would be coming to this particular cantina in the evenings, but he never had a schedule. So every night, Natasha would sit at the same table, wearing a different sundress each time. Sam would note to himself how fantastic she would look in each feminine one; how she haphazardly piled her hair on her head, the few loose tresses caressing her bare back and shoulders.

"Well, you are the bait," Sam countered, a smile across his face, his glasses hiding his eyes. "I would be a bad backup if I took my eyes off of it."

Natasha narrowed her eyes in his direction, lifting her glass once again to take a rather large sip of the wine concoction. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but Sam looked good in the light blue short sleeved button down and khaki shorts. "Call me bait again Wilson," she glowered at him.

"Oh, c'mon Nat, you know I'm joking," he chuckled. He raised the glass of beer in her direction. "But you are beautiful," he finished.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she could feel her cheeks heat up and she mentally scolded herself for letting Sam get to her like that. It's not like she enjoys having a cold hearted bitch exterior, but it kept her from getting hurt. "Focus, Wilson," she chided as she turned around and leaned back against the bar.

"You think I can focus better looking at your back?" Sam asked. "Still beautiful from behind." She could hear the smirk through the com.

"Would you just do your job?" she sighed, frustrated. It was almost as bad as dealing with Stark. Almost.

"Yes ma'am," Sam replied with a teasing tone.

Natasha eyed the crowd, not seeing their mark and she was starting to get perturbed that they have been wasting all week on a chance that they will find this guy. Frustrated, she downed the rest of her drink, not seeing the look Sam gave her

"Quieres otra señorita?" the bartender asked from behind her.

Natasha shook her head and got up from the stool she's been occupying for the last two hours. "Sam, I don't think he's coming tonight," she said and took a step, tripping on the stool next to her. A hand grabbed her forearm while another was at the small if her back. Her head shot up to have her green eyes meet those of a stormy gray.

Well, damn. I guess tonight's the night, Natasha thought as she smiled at the man who was their mark. All she had to do is get him alone so SHIELD could apprehend him without incident.

"Se encuentra bien, señorita?" the man asked. He was definitely not Hispanic as his skin was olive colored, thick, dark brown hair, and his accent was that of the Mediterranean region.

She was in the hands of Cyril Zografos.

Natasha gave her best smile. "Thank you. Those sangrias are rather potent," she spoke, portraying the innocent look and naïvity of a tourist. And it worked.

"Yes, they can be," Zografos said in English. He held her arm until she regain her balance and she gave him a shy smile.

"Thank you, señor," she whispered, making herself blush.

Zografos gave her a charming smile. "I'm Cyril. Were you leaving? If not, I wouldn't mind the company of a beautiful kyría such as yourself," he offered.

"Kyría?" feigned Natasha as she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. She knew the meaning, but what 'American' knows Greek when they hear it?

"Lady in Greek. I'm from a small town in Greece and only moved to Puerto Vallarta a few years back for a change of scenery," he explained, and she acted surprised even though she knew everything about this man. "Why don't you sit awhile with me. Would you like another sangria or maybe a margarita?"

It wasn't an offer, but a command, and anyone, agent or not, could hear the danger in his tone if you refused. Natasha nodded and chose a sangria, her eyes glanced around for Sam, but she was unable to find him.

Damn it, Wilson. This is not the time, she thought to herself. She was going to kill him if he found some pretty girl to distract him, and she was using the excuse of poor mission etiquette for that feeling.

"So, what's your name, kyría?" he asked, thanking the barman setting a beer down in front of him and a sangria in front of Natasha.

"Natalie," she responded, twirling the red lock again.

"Ah, you are a gift from God," Zografos said with a smile. Natasha smiled and blushed like any normal person would, but she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

She forced herself to listen to Zografos talk about anything and everything, trying to impress her. She would nod and raise her eyebrows at the right time, yawning on the inside. He was trying hard to impress her, and she was going to feign being impressed. He was very sure of himself and was working to get her to go back to his room.

Her thoughts were broken by Sam's voice in her ear.

"Just get him alone, Red," her partner said. She resisted the urge to clench her jaw. He knew she hated being called that. Of course, he was going to take the opportunity to call her it when she can't kick his ass.

"Well, it's been a pleasure, Cyril," she said sweetly, getting up from her chair, only to be stopped by his hand on her wrist. It took all her will to keep her muscle memory from kicking in.

"Please, let me walk you back to your room," he offered, and Natasha smiled at him, nodding. What better opportunity.

Her room was nowhere in this area of the resort, but it was best to be far away from others in case things went south. They rounded a corner and Natasha caught a glimpse of a blue shirt behind a tree and she smiled, pleased that Sam was already in position. She stopped in front of a random room and turned to Zografos ready to bid him goodnight, but he pinned her against the door, his mouth next to her ear, hands on her hips.

"Sas thélo, kai tha échete," he whispered as his hands slid from hips to cup her ass. Before she could even process, she saw Zografos fall to the ground, seeing Sam in place where he once stood, syringe in hand.

"You alright, Red?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed as he capped the syringe.

"I'm fine, Wilson," she responded vehemently, as the door behind her opened. Two people in tactical gear emerged, assessing Zografos. "I'm just going to go back and wash his stench off of me."

Before Sam could get a word in, she stormed off towards the room she was residing in. Her mind swarming with how did she let Zografos that close and have the upper hand. She was perfectly alert the whole way until she saw...

"Проклятье," she swore as she opened her door, slamming it shut. She needed a hot shower and a bottle of whiskey.


End file.
